in person; my wife says she is the image of her mother’s pure and now beatified soul; but that she is also like her father, not only in her person, but in a firmness of character which her mother wanted. Her parents were unfortunate,” continued he, with his usual depression of voice and head when afflicted. “She is in the hands of an aunt who hated them; a woman naturally harsh and violent. We cannot controul her power, without danger to ourselves; but we suffer deeply from being the witnesses of this poor girl’s mortifications. My wife, Miss Cowley, is a mother; her son Philip is Miss Flint’s favourite; she has called him _her heir_ from her cradle, and she has exacted in return from his mother, a submission which has annihilated even the wish of being independent. She is gentle, humane, and unambitious, but she is—a slave——! These domestic grievances will not long escape your observation. I am passive; for my Harriet wishes me not to interfere. I only dread lest you should despise us.” “Be assured, Sir Murdock,” answered I with seriousness, “that this fear is groundless; I am more disposed to pity than to blame. As a stranger I remarked Miss Flint’s ungracious and petulant manner, and I honestly confess I pitied _her_. She might yet be corrected; a little wholesome contradiction is all that is necessary.” “You have only to try an easier experiment,” replied he, smiling, “and you will succeed by only engaging to marry her idol.” “Were I but privileged,” answered I, “you should see her perfectly tamed by my employing nothing more than her own arts of tormenting. I doubt not but in the first instance _her idol_, as you call her young brother, secured his power in this way.” “Indeed you are mistaken,” said he, “Philip Flint was ever mindful of his own honour, though grateful for an affection, unbounded in its liberality to him.”